Remember when I said we couldn’t speak after parting ways in Germany? It was
the day I broke your heart. What you didn't know was that I was breaking mine
too.

I thought they’d be enough–my husband and my son. That I’d get home and
everything would go back to the way it was . . .

Before the war.
Before the ambush.
Before you.

But, no matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the trauma we shared. I can’t seem
to forget the way my heart beat in time with yours.

The truth is I’m lost without you.

I thought the nightmare was over when they pulled us from that hole in the
ground, but nothing could have prepared me for the war I’d face at home.
I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but, please, I have to see you one last time.
. .

“I need you
to break my heart,” she declares, wringing her hands nervously. “Give me a
reason to hate you, because wanting you this way is…it’s ruining me. It’s
ruining my life.”

She is dead
serious.

Lifting her
chin, as if ready to take a blow, her turbulent eyes implore mine. “Tell me
about them. Tell me about all of the women you’ve been with since Germany.”

“No.” I
shake my head. “Hell no.”

“Oh, please,
Briggs. How long did you wait? A few days?” She laughs sarcastically. “I bet
you didn’t even make it a day.”

She’s
coming out guns blazing, and I can see it’s physically killing her to do it.

“Are we
playing the guessing game? Do I get to ask how many times you’ve fucked your
husband?”

“Sure,” she
says with a shrug. “We’ll trade. You go first.”

She’s
bluffing, and I’m calling her on it.

“Don’t do
this, Scottie. You don’t really want to hear about that.”

“Humor me,
Briggs.” Her eyes plead with mine. “I need to hear this.”

“Fine. You
want the truth?”

She nods.

“Complete
honesty?”

Again, she
bobs her head.

She stands
stock-still as I pace the small room, feeling the blood begin to boil beneath
my overheated skin.

Fuck it.

I stalk
back toward her, stopping inches away. “You really want to know that there have
been so many that I’ve lost count? How they’re all blondes with blue eyes? But
the blue, it’s never right, and their smiles—all wrong.”

She swats
at the fresh tears that trail down her cheeks as her lips begin to tremble.
Reaching out, she places a hand on my chest, and I know that she must feel the
way my heart is pounding against my rib cage, reaching for her. Always reaching
for her.

I jerk
myself away and brand that touch to memory.

In about
forty-five seconds, my heart is going to implode. I start ticking them down.

“You want
me to tell you all about how I have to drink myself stupid, till their faces
blur enough that I can pretend…” I pause running a hand down my face. “So that
I can pretend they’re you? You want to know how fucking miserable I am? How
when I slide between their legs, I close my eyes, and it’s your face I see? How
I’m always careful not to kiss them because their lips are all wrong. How every
time I finish I want to fucking kill myself, because I can’t stand the pain of
wanting the one woman I can never have.”

Thirty
seconds.

“Is that enough?” Her eyes snap to mine. “Hate
me yet?”

Face
crumbling, she gasps out a sob, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Come on,
Scottie. Let’s not kid ourselves. I’m still the same prick you hated when we
met. Nothing’s changed. I think we’ve romanticized this situation long enough,
don’t you?”

Taking
another step away from her, I tilt my head. “You’re a housewife,” I say
snidely. “Someone else’s wife and I’m a career soldier. This isn’t exactly
ideal.”

She
flinches visibly, and my heart bottoms out.

Fifteen.

I cut my
hand through the air. “At the end of the day, this was nothing but a big
mistake. And we never would have happened if—”

“Stop,” she
cries out painfully, “stop, I’m good,” she whispers before rocketing toward the
door just as I reach for her, my fingers curling in the space she just left.
Handle in hand, she looks back at me with the sweep of her eyes until they meet
mine. That’s how we started, and it’s only fitting it’s how we should end. For
the moment, we’re right back there in the place we created, where we are
perfect. Where our souls line up without any visible smudge on the seams. In a
place where there is still so much love, so much that I can’t stop the tear
that slides out before batting it away with the back of my hand.

An
identical tear runs down her cheek. “Thank you.”

Three. Two.
One.

📖 About the Authors 📖

Heather M. Orgeron

Heather M. Orgeron is a Cajun girl with a big heart and a passion for romance. She married her high school sweetheart two months after graduation and her life has been a fairytale ever since. She’s the queen of her castle, reigning over five sons and one bossy little princess who has made it her mission in life to steal her Momma’s throne. When she’s not writing, you will find her hidden beneath mounds of laundry and piles of dirty dishes or locked in her tower(aka the bathroom) soaking in the tub with a good book. She’s always been an avid reader and has recently discovered a love for cultivating romantic stories of her own.

A Texas native, Kate Stewart lives in North Carolina with
her husband, Nick, and her naughty beagle, Sadie. She pens messy, sexy,
angst-filled contemporary romance, as well as romantic comedy and erotic
suspense because it's what she loves as a reader.

Kate is a lover of all things '80s and '90s, especially John Hughes films and
rap. She dabbles a little in photography, can knit a simple stitch scarf for
necessity, and on occasion, does very well at whiskey.